


The Ash Sun

by CommanderTeatime



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Game of Thrones-esque, Inspired by Game of Thrones, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-03-29 12:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderTeatime/pseuds/CommanderTeatime
Summary: King Asmodeus had ruled Idris with fire and fear until his advisor, Robert Lightwood, ran him through with a sword on the steps of his own throne. The two men died together, side by side. The throne was forever changed.Queen Jia Penhallow now rules Idris. The eldest son of Robert Lightwood commands her armies. The once exiled prince, Magnus Bane, has returned from Edom to reclaim what was once his by birthright. After losing a battle on the road to Alicante, Alexander Lightwood finds himself a prisoner of this prince.





	1. The Houses of Our Fathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwillstayalive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillstayalive/gifts).



> I've been working on this for so long and I finally feel comfortable with it. Please tell me what you think, what you like, what makes sense, and what doesn't. It should be readable to people who have no knowledge of Game of Thrones.  
> Updates will be small, but hopefully quick (at least quicker than George R. R. Martin c;)  
> As always, thank you for reading.

When Alec was little, young enough for his father to carry him around on his shoulders, he would hear about Dragonstone as a bedtime story. His father would carry him down the Great Hall, through the banquet room, and along the hall to the row of bedrooms. 

His father would duck to make it in through the doorway, he’d laugh as Alec let go of him to touch the door frame before being lowered down to his own feet. He’d change into his sleep clothes and his father would tuck him in, a candle burning away to a small nub of wax, the room cold with the night wind. 

He would lay there, trying to stay awake as best he could as his father talked about his job as advisor to King Asmodeus, his eyes would grow heavier with each word of old mysticism. 

“Sometimes, before a hunt, King Asmodeus will take ash from the fireplace and sprinkle them, as your mother does with flour when she makes bread, and he’ll say something in an old language when he does it.” His father would mimic the sounds, all of them sliding into place one after the next, sending chills up and down Alec’s little spine. “And then he’ll read the ashes, just like you read your books.” 

He would always ask too many questions, most of them about dragons which had been lost to the Bane family centuries ago. His father told him about their skulls. Aliyah, a dragon belonging to King Asmodeus’ ancestors, had a head as big as two carriages. She sat there on the floor of the throne room, her teeth bigger than his father’s sword, ready to defend her family. 

If the beast were alive, her glowing dark eyes would be staring at him, her teeth bared to tear him limb from limb. All that was left of her now was a broken skull devoid of any teeth. 

“Alexander Lightwood.” 

Alec looked away from the broken dragon skull. The Dragon Prince was in front of him, his dark tunic sparkled in the light of the throne room. He looked like everything Alec had imagined-- warm skin, sharp cheekbones, dark amber eyes; overwhelmingly foreign.

The Dragon Prince took a step down from the throne towards him. He had a sword at his side, a long blade, meant for quick fighting with a long decorated handle. Alec wondered if the blade had been one of the few remaining belongings of Asmodeus Bane, the Lone Dragon. Steel so strong that it could shatter the blade of any sword made today. A sword like that had sliced through his father’s flesh and severed his head. 

He closed his eyes for a long second. Death would be so fitting at the same steps where his father had kneeled before the Dragon King. 

“Warden and Defender of the Vale?” 

“Yes,” Alec opened his eyes to look up at the man, at his dark amber eyes and the slight scowl in his features. His shoulders felt heavy, bearing the true meaning of his title, a title he had only ever associated with his father. 

“I’ll admit, you took me by surprise when you shot that arrow at me.” The Dragon Prince said, and Alec swore to the gods that he could see a small flash of a smile in the man’s eyes. He seemed to relax a little, shifting his weight onto the heels of his feet. “It’s quite a talent to hit a moving target from the back of a horse.” 

Alec looked down to the dark slate floor. He took a deep, steadying breath and looked up. 

“How’s your arm?” He asked. 

Magnus Bane’s eyes sharpened, colder than the steel at his side. “How’s your head?” 

He frowned, disappointed in himself. Silence filled the space in between them and Alec released all of his charms with a sigh. He looked back down at the black stone floor.

“Your knights made it out of the battle alive.” Magnus Bane said, “It looked like they met up again in Riverrun.” 

He was grateful for that, at least. A small victory. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about his siblings. Were Jace and Izzy among the knights who had escaped? Alec bit down on the inside of his cheek to steady himself. 

“Don’t worry; your death will not be today.”

Fingers found his jaw and he felt himself relax. They moved his chin to look up and meet the brilliant eyes of the man before him. The Dragon Prince was smiling now, in a way that reminded Alec of children in schoolyards; taunting. 

“For now, you’ll be my guest.” The fingers left his skin and a chill replaced their warmth.

He was still standing so close. Alec slipped a hand from the bindings behind him and in a blink reached for the Dragon Prince’s sword. Before he could stand, the Dragon Prince’s hand struck him in the chest. The sword fell from his hand and he hit the stone floor, pain from the battle on the Kingsroad ignited through his nerves and veins, leaving him breathless. 

The air still smelled of smoke.

“Ragnor, would you please take the Lord of the Vale to his room?” The Dragon Prince asked with a disappointed sigh. 

Alec closed his eyes tight and made no effort to move as a man moved him around like a doll, binding his hands tighter than before. 

“You should kill me.” He said, his voice strained. Alec opened his eyes to look at the Dragon Prince, holding his sword and turning the blade over in his hands. “Run me through.” 

“No.” 

“Why?” Alec asked, pulling away from the man behind him. “Do it as your father did to mine.” 

The Dragon Prince didn’t look away from him as he placed his sword back into its sheath. His hand rested on the handle, ready to draw in case Alec tried again. “We are not our fathers.” He stated. 

The man’s grip tightened and Alec let himself be pulled away into the emptiness of the vast castle.


	2. Stretch the Seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec loses his boots and Magnus plays Barbie dress-up makeover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a few notes if this is confusing, because these things usually confuse me when I read fantasy genre books. Also, I'm still planning a lot of the plot, but this story looks like it's going to be around 40-50 chapters. (Yikes.)  
> *~*~*~*  
> The Lightwoods control the Vale, which is hidden behind a mountain pass, it's rocky and green, and borders the sea.  
> The Banes control the Claw, it's a peninsula that borders the same sea, but far enough the Vale isn't visible.  
> The Herondales control the Reach, which is a huge stretch of plains, it's mostly agricultural and their success makes them very wealthy.  
> The Morgensterns control a small portion of the land bordering the sea, south of the Claw.  
> The Penhallows control Alicante and the areas nearby and because of that, they are in charge of the whole realm-- everyone is subservient to the Penhallows except for Magnus because he's a usurper.

When they had entered the room, Alec’s first thoughts upon seeing the large bath were to walk straight into it and drown. The weight of his exhaustion and his failures would be enough to send him to the bottom like a stone.

The man had helped him take off the dark metal armor, undoing the leather straps that Alec was too sore to reach. It had taken them far too long, but the man had left, leaving Alec naked in front of a large pool of hot perfumed water. He had scooped down and taken all of Alec’s belongings before leaving.

A man was always less likely to run without his boots.

Alec only wondered where he could run to.

He stepped down into the hot water and grimaced. He took a few more steps, careful and slow, before his feet touched the bottom of the bathing pool. The water rested against his chest, the soft floral perfume forced him to relax and breathe deeply. Alec moved to the side of the pool and leaned a little to rest his head against the edge. He closed his eyes in the silence.

He had lost battles before, but he had never been a prisoner.

He had always taken them, used them for their intel and sometimes turned them on their allies. Most of the time, he had delegated the task of dealing with prisoners. He wondered if Magnus would do the same.

In time, he was sure they would break him. A starving man would do anything for food.

Alec opened his eyes to look at the stone wall opposite of him. It was made of slate, like everything else, and looked out to the shoreline. The windows were long and tall, iron lines held the panes in place like vines. He could see the beach now, black sand and white sea foam, the endless stretch of gray that his mind so closely associated with home.

Would his family forgive such weakness?

What would their allies think? Alexander Lightwood, the son of the Kingslayer, a captive to an exiled prince. His father was the reason the Dragon Prince had gone into exile, and here he was, in the same castle, soon to be a slave to him.

He closed his eyes again. Surely they would consider the fact that he had nearly been killed by a dragon, that his men had been turned to ash in its wake.

He had only seen one of them. Rumors had reached Idris that the Dragon Prince had as many as twelve dragons. Alec couldn’t imagine the damage twelve dragons could cause. He had seen the destruction of the Kingsroad and all of the men on it.

The flames had swallowed everything, even the air in his lungs.

Alec had choked on the putrid smell, his horse had panicked and charged through the battle, looking for a single moment to escape. The reigns felt heavy in his hands, blisters broke under the leather of his gloves.

The sky turned the color of sulfur.

He was alongside the river, his horse stood in the pebbles of the beach, watching as the dragon lowered himself to the edge, its tail slapped the water, its claws cut through the dirt, leaving long strokes of fresh black earth.

To call the noise it made a scream was to make it human. It cut through his mind stirring something primal, a fear so integral to his being that he had lost all consciousness, but continued to move upright.

It was like a flash in his memory.

His horse had moved forward, he had grabbed his bow the place on his saddle and an arrow from his quiver.

His fingers nocked the arrow to the bowstring and pulled back.

He stood, the heels of his boots steadied him against his horse.

He pulled back, aimed for the black shine on the beast’s back.

The arrow left his fingers.

It made the noise again, enough for his ears to nearly burst.

“I brought some clean clothes for you.”

Alec jumped, all of him shaking. He opened his eyes, he must’ve nearly been asleep. He took a deep breath to steady himself and rested his head in his hands for a moment.

“Are you alright?”

The man’s voice shifted into focus. The battle was gone, the noise that had plagued his mind only a whisper.

“Fine.” Alec said, his voice too soft. “I’m fine,” he said again. He turned to see who had brought him clothes, to maybe thank them.

He frowned when he realized it was Magnus Bane. He stood near the door, the gold sash that had rested against his chest was gone now. He looked far less regal without it, more like a wealthy traveler out of place in such a drab castle. He had a bundle of fabric under his arm, clothes, Alec supposed.

“Going to kill me?” Alec asked, he turned back to look at the other side of the room. The sun, which hadn’t shown itself, had lowered and the sky had darkened only slightly. He wondered if he had been in the bath for too long, if that was why the Dragon Prince had come to pay him a visit.

“Before I arrange your ransom?” Magnus Bane asked, taking a few steps into the room. He looked at the room as though it wasn’t his own, but his eyes fell to Alec. “That wouldn’t be a good investment on my part.”

Alec lowered himself a little into the water so that it lapped against his neck. “There are men who would pay good money for me dead.”

Magnus Bane was quiet, the clothes he had been holding hit the tile floor in between them. “The Pangborns have already made an offer.”

He scoffed.

The Pangborns were a minor house. They swore allegiance to whichever family they thought would protect them from the biggest threat. Their land was situated between the Vale, the Reach of the Herondales, and the Claw that the Banes had once controlled, now the seat of the Penhallows.

They had sided with the Vale when the Circle moved to depose Asmodeus. The Pangborns had been the guards of the throne room and had withdrawn on his father’s order. They had later insisted that King Asmodeus had given them the order, that they had not associated with Robert Lightwood and his insurgents.

“How much do you think you’re worth?” Magnus Bane asked.

“More than they can offer.” Alec murmured, loud enough for the man to hear him.

“Protector of the Vale, Knight of the Vale, son of Robert Lightwood, the Kingslayer.” Magnus Bane listed, his voice echoed off the stone walls around them. “Defeated at the Kingsroad by a single dragon.”

Alec ran his wet fingers through his damp hair. Magnus Bane could call him whatever insulting epithets he wanted, though Alec supposed if the man was going to write a ransom demand, he should address him with the correct titles. “Protector of the Vale is my mother. It’s a title that remains in the Vale.”

Magnus Bane was silent and Alec was almost sure that he had left. He relaxed into the water again, submerging himself in silence for a long moment. The heated water burned against his closed eyes. Alec scraped his fingernails over his scalp and tried to rinse out all of the sweat and ash he was sure was in his hair. He surfaced and brushed his dark hair back and out of his face.

“Please refrain from drowning yourself in my private bath.” Magnus Bane said, dismissing his worry. He took a few careful steps towards the pool and stopped halfway from the edge to the door.

Alec would’ve rolled his eyes if he could find it in himself to turn his head. “Is that why you’re here? To make sure I didn’t drown?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Would you rather I let you walk around naked?”

Alec stood fully in the water. He turned to face Magnus Bane, he looked surprised, his hands in front of him, anxiously intertwined. He looked like he had a question to ask, or at least something to say. Alec took one step on the stairs of the bathing pool.

“You had the opportunity and you didn’t take it.” Magnus Bane said, looking away as though it would preserve Alec’s modesty. He reached down for the cloth near his feet and offered it to Alec to dry off, still steps away from the water.

Alec stepped out and accepted the drying cloth.

He was sure that Magnus Bane wasn’t asking why he wasn’t choosing to remain naked, but asking why he hadn’t killed him. Alec covered himself with the cloth and dried his face.

“I’m an awful shot.”

Magnus Bane frowned and turned away so quickly that Alec shivered with the movement of the air. “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said with the simple wave of his hand, and he closed the door behind him.

 

 

 

The tunic fit tightly in his shoulders and snuggly at his waist.

It was short at his wrists, too.

He smoothed down the front of it again and tried not to admire the brilliant embroidery all over the dark blue fabric. It looked incredibly expensive, possibly the richest thing he’d ever touched. The silk feeling of it was soft against his rough hands which snagged the small threads. It was beautiful and Alec hated it.

He felt like a fool.

This was possibly the worst show of power Magnus Bane could think of, and it was smart-- to dress a noble Idrisian in foreign garb, make him look like a prince to parade around. He was reminding Alec who he belonged to now. He could only wonder what level of servitude called for silk tunics and soft fitted black pants.

Alec pulled at the length of the tunic and hoped that he might be able to get it to rest below his knees. It only made the fit tighter. He sighed and rolled his shoulders to make himself as comfortable as he could in his new costume.

The clothing of the Vale was always simple and heavy. They wore little embroidery without reason for it; in fact, Alec could count the times he had worn a color other than black or gray on one hand. Nearly every one of those incidents had been his mother’s attempt to arrange a marriage.

Fabrics were meant to be heavy and thick. The clothes of the Vale were long to protect from the mountain chill and long slits in dark cloaks made it easier to mount and dismount from a horse. Alec knew that if he tried to get on a horse in such an unorthodox outfit, he’d tear the seams just by reaching.

Alec was grateful that Magnus Bane hadn’t provided him with a mirror because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from smashing it.

He took a deep breath and gave the tunic one last tug before he walked out of the room barefoot. They hadn’t even considered to give him long socks to put on.

“I’m sure you know the way to your room?” Magnus asked, and Alec stopped wandering down the long stretch of hall to look back at the staircase.

Magnus didn’t move from the stone steps, his legs stretched out in front of him, resting back on his elbows. He seemed more confident now and it almost made Alec wonder if Magnus was afraid of naked men, or if he had just realized that Alec could’ve thrown him into the water earlier.

He must’ve found the silence amusing. Magnus stood and stepped down to stand in front of him and pulled a little at his tunic.

“Mm, too small.”

Alec huffed.

“No, no, no, don’t do that again.” Magnus murmured, pulling at the fabric that had gathered at his shoulders. His fingers were light as they worked with the fabric, frowning just a little out of concentration. “Stop being so tense, you’ll stretch the seams.”

Alec took a step back and swatted away Magnus’s hands. “This might surprise you, but I’m not here to be your doll.”

“No, you’re here because you lost a battle and your family abandoned you on the field.” Magnus looked him over and frowned a little, “your room is three flights of stairs above us and the first door on the right.” It was hard not to notice how well the fabric fit him. It straightened Magnus's shoulders instead of gathering too tightly, and made him look slender and elegant instead of awkward and stiff.

Magnus rested his hand against the start of the stairs and didn't turn to face Alec when he spoke. “It has the finest cliff view, so you can consider your escape as much as you’d like.” He turned then to smile, every bit as tense as Alec felt, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might be a little slower than expected because I'm so committed to writing this well.  
> Please leave comments.


	3. Past the Curtained Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Alec contemplates paring knives, psychotic in-laws, and his own place in the unfolding saga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update this. Life has been kicking my ass. The job that I was hired for at the beginning of the summer takes a lot more out of me than I expected it to and I've gone through emergency after emergency. Please know that I have no plans to abandon this fic. I am fully committed to writing this slow burn, so please, stick with me. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to the anon on tumblr who sent me a sweet message asking when I was going to update. I promised you mid-August and I tried my best to stick to it. Also, tons of thanks to gilleboll on tumblr for putting up with my repetitive whining about how hard it was to write this.

Alec pushed himself further into the darkened halls of Dragonstone. 

It wasn’t nearly as big as he thought it was. He supposed that he still had the expectations of a child--tall empty halls, glittering banners of obsidian and gold hung from the highest of corners, a crackling fire in every room, the words of old surrounding every movement. Dragonstone had been the place of fairy tales and myths, surrounded by a historic legacy. 

He had expected something far grander than a dilapidated castle covered in dust and decay. 

Alec held out the torch that he had taken from the staircase. Surely Magnus Bane wouldn’t be one to follow him into the deepest bowels of the castle, just to make certain that he was in bed before dark.

If the man did follow him, or if Alec managed to circle and run into him again, he would insist that he got lost. That his concussion had made him so confused that he had mistaken the stairs in front of him for the long stretch of hall to the side. Or, if that didn’t convince him, Alec would make something up about his curiosity getting the better of him, although it wouldn’t be a total lie. 

He had always dreamt of exploring Dragonstone, but more in the sense of lingering through its ruins, imagining the history before him like a play on a stage. Alec had always dreamt of ruling from Dragonstone, of having a dragon of his own. It had been a child’s dream, but a dream nonetheless. 

It reminded him of Jace and Isabelle, how they had run across the long stretch of the Vale, chasing after one another and screaming like banshees about the politics around them. They were only children and didn’t understand much, but they understood enough to make good fun out of it. 

He wished there had been a way to go back and save his perception of Dragonstone. Seeing it as a monument lost to time seemed far more approachable than seeing the building as a prison. 

Alec supposed he was getting ahead of himself. He had only seen a few rooms of Dragonstone, and it was apparent to him that Magnus Bane hadn’t been there very long. 

The throne room had still been coated in dust, the skull of the dragon Aliyah would either be put away into the bowels of the castle or restored to some fictitious account of former glory. It was not the display of power that Magnus Bane had meant to show to him, that much had been clear. He had wanted to show Alec how strong he was, how he could so easily step in to fill the position of his father, that fifteen years had been yesterday, that they hadn’t been boys when the world had fallen to pieces. 

It was arrogant of him to make such a stance. 

He continued down the hall until it met a service hallway, only peeking into a few rooms on his way. Alec had mostly found closed shipping containers, fresh off of a boat with the strong smell of salt and mildew.

The service hallway was cut from clear access by a mound of storage. Bottles in boxes littered the ground as well as stacks of bags of grain and satchels of other goods, piled neatly across from a room that Alec assumed was a kitchen. He could only hear tinkering from inside, and he hoped that whoever was inside would soon leave so he could attempt an escape. 

He had grown up in castles enough to know that almost every kitchen opened onto the solid ground in case of a fire or siege. 

The movements inside were too big to be a mouse, Alec figured, as he pressed himself against the stone of the wall. He placed the torch from his hand into the mount on the wall and slipped back into the shadows of the grain sacks. It wasn’t the full kitchen staff, Alec surmised. There was no way that Magnus Bane had come from Edom with only one cook. 

Alec took a careful step forward, placing his barefoot against a small crate of wax-sealed wine bottles. He balanced, hoping to get a better look inside without exposing his position. 

Something brushed against his hair and he jumped, nearly falling into the supplies. He steadied himself, the bottles clanking against one another. Alec brushed a hand through his hair before he stepped back, hoping to further conceal himself in the darkness. 

His hand brushed against some dried herbs and he took a steadying deep breath. 

“Hello?” A woman called out, she stepped out of the kitchen, looking either way with a slight frown on her face. Her skin was dark, the color of a freshly tilled field, a beautiful reminder of spring. Her eyes looked past him, surveying the mound of goods before she turned back into the room. 

Alec exhaled slowly through his nose before he slid over the top of a bag of grain. He placed his feet on the cold stone floor again, the dust on his feet made the well-worn floor feel slippery almost like ice. 

He stepped to the side of the door and peered in. 

The woman was the only person inside. She stood near the fire, her hand resting against a long wooden pole that extended from the stone oven. 

Alec silently moved to the nearest preparatory table. It was full of goods leftover from whatever the kitchen staff had made. He took the sharpest knife he could find and gripped the handle like a lifeline. 

“The exit is through the kitchen and past the curtained room,” she said, not looking away from the flames. 

The knife slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. Alec jumped, hoping to avoid the blade as it clattered. He was quick to pick it up again, readying the paring knife. If he had to, he could cut through the arteries in her neck, the blade wasn’t long or sharp enough to do much else. 

She turned around to look at him. “Well?” 

Alec looked at her. He expected her to do something, to run off into a different part of the castle and tell the Dragon Prince or one of his many strong hooligans that he was trying to escape. 

The woman turned back to the fire and pulled out the long wooden pole, it was larger and flat on one end, a few loaves of bread sat on top of it, not yet browned. They smelled heavenly, like a warm garden and home. She placed them back into the flames. 

“I won’t even tell him I saw you.” 

Alec grabbed whatever he could around him-- some of the meats and cheeses hanging up for storage and drying, the dried herbs beside them. He stuffed them into a sack that already had a few potatoes and other goods inside of it, then a bottle of wine, then a second. He quickly tied the bag off and started towards the other end of the room. 

“Going to defend yourself against dragons with a paring knife?” She asked, glancing over to him with a small smile. She turned back to the fire and pulled out the two loaves of bread, then placed them out of the range of the heat. 

“The dragons are this way?” Alec asked, looking in the direction of the door. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he could see the curtained area that she had told him about. The curtain was an old worn purple, the same kind of fabric that traders sold as rugs. 

She looked at him, “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

He adjusted the bag over his shoulder. 

“You’re also barefoot and have no way to get off of the island.” 

Alec looked at his own feet, dirtied with castle dust. He knew that she was right, that even though he could see his escape, he couldn’t make it, not without boots and proper supplies. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, hoping to come up with an alternative to running out into a nest of dragons.

“You’ll become a meal for a dragon, and not even a full meal.” The woman turned away from her bread to look at him. 

She was older than him but younger than his mother. Her dark hair was hidden behind a gauzy blue strip of fabric that matched her shirt. “Magnus will arrange your ransom soon enough and you’ll be allowed to leave Dragonstone.” She turned back to the bread and placed a cloth over the top of the two loaves. “At least then you won't be barefoot.” 

Perhaps if his throw was decent, he could chuck one of the larger sticks of meat he had grabbed from the kitchen. That would distract the beasts for a second, right? 

The woman took one of the knives from the counter and cut into one of her loaves of bread. Alec watched as she sliced into it carefully. She bit into the first piece and sighed, then cut another and handed it out to him. 

“Are you going to gut me with a paring knife?” 

Alec tightened his grip on the knife. 

He wasn’t. Even if the woman in front of him held a knife in her own hand, he knew that there was no way for him to win the fight. She was strong, he could see it in the way she moved. Every action was calculated, even something as simple as offering him a slice of hot bread. 

Alec pulled at the tunic that Magnus had dressed him in and hoped that he could tuck the small blade into the waist of the pants he was wearing, but the fabric was already hugging him. He set the knife down on the counter, still within reach, and accepted the slice of bread. 

“Good, now let’s go get you some real food.” She took the bag before Alec could grab it back from her. He almost moved for the paring knife to get it back, but she was already near the doorway. “I’ll stash it for you,” she said, turning back to look at him. “I’m sure Magnus will wonder where his half-empty sack of potatoes went.” 

 

* * *

  


Her name was Catarina and she was from the Meadows, a savage desert in Edom that Alec had always been told was uninhabited. 

She explained through another slice of bread and a few pieces of dried fruit that she had been raised as a healer by her mother and her aunt. Catarina had grown up at an oasis, a fertile paradise in the center of a desolate hell. When she left home, she left for the Cities where she healed the hurt and sick, creating her own salves and remedies until she reached Duduael where the king insisted she was a witch. She was imprisoned without a formal trial to await her execution.

That was when she met Magnus Bane, in a prison cell with a few other upstarts and criminals. They had worked together to escape and had become good friends. It was through Magnus Bane that she had fallen in love with her new husband, Ragnor. 

Alec connected the name and her description of the man with the same man who had gruffly dragged him down flights of stairs from the throne room to the baths. He had taken Alec’s belongings and left. 

It wasn’t uncommon for wardens to do that with their prisoners, Alec supposed. 

Still, he found it rather disconcerting how she spoke of Magnus Bane. The exiled son of the man who had killed his father and half of his advisors in a fit of panic and paranoia. It burned Alec to think of the man, the one that had stood in front of him, cocksure and smirking, a hand on the hilt of his sword, those same fingers smoothing out the fabric of the clothes Alec wore. 

Magnus Bane was no one’s ally. He was a lit flame near a stack of dry hay.

Alec frowned inwardly, perhaps Magnus Bane wasn’t the lit flame, but he rode one through the skies. 

“Did you know that Magnus Bane burned down the grain storage for the long winter?” Alec asked, settling against the numerous cushions on her bed, the only piece of furniture in her room not cluttered with any sort of belongings. 

Catarina handed him a cup of tea and cradled her own in both of her hands, staring at the drink as though she were hoping to read the leaves settling at the bottom of the cup. “I’m not going to speak for Magnus’s actions like they’re my own.” 

Alec took a careful sip of tea, the sweet honey slightly settled his still raging nerves. “I don’t expect you too, but you’re supporting a man who had chosen to let thousands of people starve.” 

“You think your queen doesn’t do the same?” Catarina asked. “I don’t want to talk about politics with you. I’m not here to make you see Magnus’s side, I’m not here to stop you from murdering us all in our sleep with a paring knife.” 

“Then why did you bring me here?” Alec asked, looking around her room at all of the open books and supplies. “Why not let me run out into a nest of dragons?” 

She looked at him as though he were a child throwing a tantrum-- pure annoyance and exhaustion. “We both want the same thing-- for you to leave. Magnus isn’t one for prisoners and captives and a ransom doesn’t sound like him. It’s better for him, for you, and your family if you just leave the island.” 

Alec straightened a little. “So, you’ll help me escape?” He asked, looking her over as though he could tell if she was lying. He reminded himself that he had only met her moments ago, that she could be angling herself to manipulate him in some way. 

“If you remember my kindness, yes, perhaps the others’ as well.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. Another sip of tea calmed him. 

Sacking the castle hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Dragonstone was precious. He couldn’t imagine a world without the historic mark on the world. The Bane family had conquered the kingdoms and held them for so long, their dragons had shaped the landscape of Idris. There were still patches of the Reach where plants refused to grow that had once been marred by dragonfire. 

The Lightwoods would not be a threat to Dragonstone, at least not in Alec’s mind. He hadn’t considered what other noble families would do.

Kidnapping an Idrisian general off of a battlefield and holding him for ransom wasn’t an action that would be taken lightly. Alec wondered if the other families were mounting their attacks, to prevent or destroy any such threat now made apparent. 

He was sure that the Penhallows of Alicante were carefully playing with their pawns. The largest and most ancient families of Idris, the Lightwoods included, paid tribute to them in return for security. Would Jia burn Dragonstone to the ground for him? Would she mount a full attack with the remains of his own army? 

Alec knew better than to expect it. Alicante accomplished more through gossip and hearsay than through direct political actions. 

This would shift the power in the East. There was no doubt that the Morgensterns would be the first to hear about his capture, and they would be the first to strike Dragonstone. If Jace knew he wasn’t dead, Clary knew, and if Clary knew that Alec was a prisoner of Magnus Bane, her insane brother was surely involved as well. It wouldn’t take long for their black ships to drift out of the fog and land upon the shores of the island. 

“Alec.” 

He hadn’t realized that he had been staring at the blanket on her bed, watching the falling star pattern shift and change in his mind. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, hoping to wake himself up. “Sorry.” He stretched a little and rolled his shoulders, and the room moved with him. 

Hands quickly took his own, the cup was gone from his touch. 

“What?” He asked, confused. 

Catarina placed the cups on the only clear spot on her table before she turned around. “You were going to spill.” 

Alec frowned and leaned further back against all of the soft cushions. He sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead for only a moment, hoping that the pressure would clear away the clutter of his thoughts. “It’s not me you should be afraid of,” he said, not entirely sure if he had said it or only thought it again, only this time more strongly.

The way she looked at him told him that he had said it. She settled down on the side of the bed, leaning in a little closer to him. He wondered if this was really why she had convinced him to join her, to talk to her. Had she wanted to share his knowledge with Magnus Bane? 

“It’s the Morgensterns. Jonathan Morgenstern will gut anyone who doesn’t approach him on their knees.” Alec took another deep breath and closed his eyes. 

Jonathan Morgenstern had murdered every suitor that had pursued his sister. Clary had escaped his prison, running through the forest that bled into the Vale. Jace had found her while they were out hunting, and they had carried her to High Hall, half-frozen and scared to death.

The mountain pass had become treacherous. Jonathan couldn’t pursue them, couldn’t fight for Clary’s return. Instead, he had burned a village on the other side of the mountains, leaving only a red-haired girl and her mother alive. 

In the few years that had passed, Jonathan had become amicable with Clary and Clary only. She had become a diplomat, the only woman brave enough in all of the kingdoms to stand in front of the man and tell him he was wrong. The only woman stupid enough to go to such a man and request help.

In his heart, he knew that the preparations were well underway, that the crazed young man had looked for any excuse to use his full military, to annihilate something off of the face of the earth and erase it from history. Jace and Clary were going to give him that chance. They were going to let Jonathan Morgenstern fulfill his father’s final wish, to change the course of history in the worst way. 

Alec rested fully against the pillows.

Dragonstone had only been defeated twice in its long history. 

Once by the brother of the king, a story that had become immortalized as a folktale about sibling rivalry and the dangers of jealousy.

The second time had been by his own father, Robert Lightwood, with the Morgenstern army behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me or yell at me on tumblr at umbralogia.tumblr.com


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